


Sticks and Stones

by oneironym



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Stormblood, slight canon-typical racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneironym/pseuds/oneironym
Summary: Fordola tenaciously claws her way to the top.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22
Collections: Villain of My Own Story Exchange 2020





	Sticks and Stones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stepOnMeZenos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepOnMeZenos/gifts).



There were exactly three items on Livia sas Junius’ desk: a hammered metal mug from a common soldier’s mess kit; a single sheet of paper; and a human skull. The rest of the office betrayed no personality whatsoever, with bare metal furniture and a rack on the wall that held a gunblade for storage only and not for display. Fordola wondered if it had been so immaculately cleaned on purpose before her arrival, to make her feel like a stain upon the floor with her presence.

The Tribunus herself leaned back easily against the desk, arms crossed, scrutinizing the Ala Mhigan girl who stood before her at perfect attention. The dispassionate expression of the mask on her Garlean helm seemed to hold disdain for Fordola as well.

“Why are you here?” Livia asked, their first words spoken since Fordola’s arrival. They both knew the answer, but the Tribunus needed to hear the answer aloud for herself.

Fordola felt a small muscle in her leg twitch involuntarily, and hoped it would not be mistaken for fear. “Legatus Baelsar requires an interview prior to my admission to the Crania Lupi. I am honored by his command to present myself to you, ma’am.”

Livia nodded, putting a fingertip to the lips of her mask. “An admirable reply,” she mused. Then, standing up, she took the mug from her desk, and offered it to the conscript.

“Have you ever had Dalmascan wine?” she asked, swirling the cup’s contents. They both knew the answer to that question, as well. The drink was a deep purple-red, and smelled of fruits and spices Fordola had never known. “Sweet, but not cloying. The vintners each guard their recipes so every family has their own unique taste.

“Would you like some?”

This was not an order. A test of self-control, perhaps?

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Fordola replied, closing her eyes briefly as she took a deep breath to smell the fine fruits, but making no other movement. “I am still on duty.”

Livia’s laugh was light, a girl’s laugh, though the Ala Mhigan knew she was older. “As you wish.” She set the cup back on the desk, and moved to circle Fordola where she remained at attention.

“You know, you have the rank and record to ask to be stationed in Dalmasca,” the Tribunus went on. “If you petitioned Lord Baelsar, he would almost certainly grant it. There are no dust storms there, only cooling rains, and you’ve never seen a place so beautifully green.” She paused at Fordola’s left side, looking her up and down. “No dry wind to chap your pretty face.”

From what Fordola understood, Dalmasca was a place not unlike Ala Mhigo in that the people still railed against their Imperial rulers. Once, as a young naive girl, Fordola had dreamt of seeing more of Hydaelyn as an auxiliary, to be stationed somewhere exotic like Doma, or Dalmasca, or Eorzea. Garlemald’s wide reach could help her to leave the small, dusty world she had grown up in.

She had quickly learned, however, that the passage had to be paid in blood.

The Tribunus saw that she was still mulling her options, and continued to press, “I could use someone with your fine skills of enforcement there. And you’re so young! Such potential to make something of yourself abroad.”

Fordola’s gaze darted to the skull on the desk. She had also heard about Livia sas Junius’ campaigns there, what she had done, the reputation she had earned as Witch of Dalmasca. Tales of brutality invariably inflated in the tellings and retellings, but that turned the Ala Mhigan woman’s stomach nonetheless.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Though Fordola could display a heavy hand when she needed to, she would not wish Tribunus Junius’ brand of Imperial retribution upon even the staunchest rebels of her homeland. They were still Ala Mhigans, born of the same shitty dirt and sand. And Fordola’s deepest hope was to protect them, to force them to allow the Empire to protect them. She would see her countrymen become upstanding citizens, not remain petulant children, proving themselves the savages that the Garleans thought they were.

“You honor me with your offer, ma’am, but my wish is to join the Crania Lupi and stay here,” Fordola asserted again, carefully, not wanting to voice an outright refusal. “Lord Baelsar has brought us order, and the chance to be part of something greater. I would work to see Ala Mhigo show due gratitude.”

Livia was silent for a moment, pacing around behind Fordola again. Then she leaned close, over her shoulder, until the Ala Mhigan could hear the metallic sound of her breath through her helmet.

“Bitch,” the Tribunus hissed in her ear. Fordola felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end, and she suppressed a shudder.

“Traitor. Collaborator. Imperial dog.” Livia moved back towards her desk as she snapped the insults. Then laughed her girlish laugh again. “You know they will call you these things, and worse. You will face the scorn of your own people. As they kick back at the Empire, so will they kick back at you.”

Fordola’s mouth felt dry suddenly, and she nodded. “I have already been called as much for my service to Garlemald.” By Ala Mhigans. By Doman conscripts. By Ilsabard-born Garlean Imperials. Yet it had only further steeled her desire to weed out seeds of rebellion, lest Lord Baelsar deemed it necessary to burn Ala Mhigo to the ground and salt the ashes, as Livia had done in Dalmasca.

The Tribunus crossed her arms, leaning back easily on her desk again. She was silent for a moment, then asked again, “Why are you here?”

So no other Ala Mhigan girl would have to suffer the taunts, and the ridicule, and loss at the hands of her own countrymen unable to accept their lot. So her people would behave like proper citizens, and the rest of Garlemald would accept them as such. That was why she was here, in her Imperial armor, in the Tribunus’ office, under trial to raise herself to a more respectable position.

“I am here to serve Garlemald!” Fordola declared, stuffing her fear down beneath the ardor of her determination.

“Good girl.” The Garlean woman’s voice remained patronizing. Then she took the mug of wine again, held it out to Fordola a second time. “You will take the wine. And then you are dismissed.”

“Ma’am!” For the first time since she had arrived in the office, the Ala Mhigan woman moved, rendering a salute. Then she reached out to accept the mug in both hands. The wine certainly smelled cloying, and it was the color of blood. But how many Ala Mhigans like Fordola would have the chance to taste it?

* * *

There was a canyon down the center of Gaius van Baelsar’s desk, the one region with no books or papers that served as a workspace. The Garlean legatus, conqueror and leader of Ala Mhigo, now occupied this canyon; his attention and his pen were on a series of documents for Fordola, and she tried not to fidget where she sat, waiting, across the desk at the other end of the pass.

He did not wear his helmet, and while this was not the first time Fordola had seen the man’s face, this was certainly the closest she had ever been. Legatus Baelsar looked old enough at least to be her father, and wore an expression that would not betray even the faintest inkling of what he thought. And Fordola knew that he was the sort of man who would read every word on the forms confirming her promotion before he put his name to them.

She dearly, desperately hoped he would. This was what she had dreamt of since before she enlisted in the Garlean army - to become the leader of the Crania Lupi. Fordola’s dogged work, the family farms she had torched, the legs she had broken, the tributes wrested from the hands of her countrymen, all to try to bring Ala Mhigo to understand what the Empire required of them.… At last, she had secured a commendation from her direct superiors, and how she had to pray that Lord Baelsar could also see her accomplishments.

With a quiet hum that almost seemed to echo in the silence of his office, the Legatus looked up from the paperwork at the young woman who sat across from him; Fordola’s back straightened by reflex and she looked away from his eyes.

“Your record is admirable,” he began, with gravel in his voice until he paused to clear his throat. “However, I have one question before I sign these.”

Fordola felt a chill run down her spine. “Anything, my lord,” she responded by reflex, and tried to ignore the metallic taste of fear forming in her mouth.

Gaius plucked another set of papers from the top of the canyon to his left side, and placed them on the table, facing the Ala Mhigan so that she could see them.

Her citizenship papers.

What could possibly be wrong? What did the Legatus need to know? What was this about?

“I noticed that your surname is not a terribly common one among the citizens of this province,” Baelsar began. “And so I paid a visit to the archives and saw that you listed your father’s full name, and yet your own surname is one you chose for yourself.”

Fordola nodded slowly, licked her lips. “I did, sir. The notary said it was in-bounds and signed off on it.” The notary had even extracted a hefty bribe for the supposed favor.

“May I ask why?” The question might have been warm and sincere coming from someone else, but the Legatus’ voice carried next to no inflection whatsoever.

The answer was not a complicated one, but one Fordola hoped not to have to disclose to anyone, least of all to one of the Garleans. New to the Crania Lupi, and anticipating that she would be cursed by the other Ala Mhigans, she had wanted simply to protect her father’s name. To keep it safe and private, in her memory and in her heart. There were those who knew her, who would still recognize her and remember her family, but there were so many others would only know Fordola of the Wolves’ Skulls. When they swore, and hurled insults, and damned her to the Seventh Hell, she did not want it to be her family name they spat upon.

It was the least Fordola could still do for her father.

“I… wanted to better assimilate,” the Ala Mhigan replied at last. That much was also true. She could only hope it was also satisfactory.

The Legatus was silent for a long moment, then sat back. “I see. Starting by casting off your savage name.”

Whether he believed her or not, Fordola had no way of knowing, but his words stung nonetheless. She nodded anyway. Accepted another rock thrown at her.

Lord Baelsar continued as though he had said little of import. “Well, it seems you have worked hard to further become a model citizen, and a good soldier.” He returned his attention to the new paperwork, put his pen to the page at last, and inscribed his signature at the bottom. Then he rose to his feet; Fordola stood as well, coming to attention.

“You will report to the south drill grounds at first light tomorrow morning, and we will go over the brief logistics of transition. Then you will receive your first orders by noon,” he told her. The fluttering in her heart felt like it had a broken wing, but she had gotten what she had wanted.

“Congratulations on your new position, Fordola rem Lupis.” van Baelsar’s voice held all ceremony and no warmth. He extended his right hand to her to shake, and handed over her signed documents with his left. Fordola was half-surprised that he was not even wearing gloves.

* * *

As Fordola approached the Ala Mhigan throne, Zenos yae Galvus lifted his quill from a sheet of parchment, and nudged it with his little finger just enough to send the page floating from the arm of the great stone chair towards the floor. Several other papers lay scattered on the nearby stone tiles, but they were not close enough for Fordola to read when she stopped at the foot of the throne to kneel.

“Reporting as ordered, my lord.”

Zenos’ face was hidden behind his formidable helm, but his long golden hair was gathered over one shoulder, and twisted into a lazy ponytail. He had removed one of his gauntlets to hold the quill to write, and he briefly brushed his bare fingers though the blond strands before slouching over onto one elbow on the throne. Even with his face hidden and her eyes lowered, Fordola could feel his gaze upon her.

“Here, you are, commander of the Crania Lupi herself,” Zenos mused, almost lazily. “The Black Wolf’s finest specimen of an Ala Mhigan - he spoke highly of you, you know. All things considered.”

Fordola said nothing, did not dare to move. But she could feel embers of pride at the Crown Prince’s words, to hear that the late Legatus had seen fit to remark upon her service in his records.

“I trust your orders arrived ahead of me from Doma?” he went on, then added as an afterthought, “Stand up.”

“Sir!” Fordola replied, rising to her feet and saluting Lord Zenos. Her new commander, and her nation’s new ruler. “They did, and we have already begun to act upon them.”

He wanted to double down on the insurgent movement that had gained momentum in the weeks following van Baelsar’s defeat and demise. Zenos wanted Fordola to sniff out the rebels, and, to her surprise, had entrusted her with the decision on how best to handle the task. She had leapt at the opportunity to do so, eager to have a chance to prove herself to the new Garlean Viceroy already.

And to get to the rebels before Zenos did to Ala Mhigo what he had done to Doma. Fordola would kill every dissident she could get her hands on to quench the fires of rebellion, to spare the need for Zenos’ intervention.

“And your plan?” The Garlean pressed.

“I had men disguised as bandits raid several villages out of Castellum Velodyna, from the Striped Hills near Pike Falls, further south along the river, and into-”

Zenos cut her off with a gesture. “I’ve not yet bothered to learn all of your local geography,” he told her. Then he shifted his posture, metal armor clinking quietly, to sit up. And then Zenos extended his one bare hand, palm up, to Fordola.

“Pretend Ala Mhigo is in the palm of my hand,” the Garlean told her, with what had to have been a hint of humor in his tone. “Come here, and draw me the map. You know the land better than I.”

Fordola’s mouth hung open for a moment as she processed his request. “A-ah, yes, my lord,” she managed, and she had to hesitate a moment before moving up the first step towards the throne, as though half expecting Zenos to retract his order.

He did not, and several steps later, she was there, before the throne and its occupant, gloved fingers poised above his own naked palm.

“Castellum Velodynia is here,” the Ala Mhigan began, taking care not to actually touch the Viceroy directly as she picked a spot near the center of his upturned hand. “This crease in your palm is the Pike River, flowing this way,” towards his small finger. Zenos’ breathing through his helm was close enough that Fordola could hear it. “We hit towns here-” she nearly brushed his hand by accident, “here, and here, and one over here. Took all the food and supplies we could. And we also hit a caravan travelling this road.” Zenos, conveniently, had a callous that roughly followed the imagined path.

“We will go back in two days to each place, off our schedule for collecting tribute, and see what they tell us,” Fordola continued, feeling her confidence swell as she did so. “If they seem to have received any outside charity in the interim, we will find it, so we will know where the rebels are offering aid, and where they can deliver it that quickly. If they ask for our assistance with bandits, then we will remind them that the Empire is here to protect them if they want it. If the villagers cooperate, I have some surplus supplies requisitioned from the Castellum to redistribute to them.”

Zenos replied with a quiet hum. “I see,” he murmured. “You have got a good head on your shoulders.” He raised his head, presumably to study Fordola's face, and she glanced away to avoid even the eyes of his mask. "And what they desire the stick and not the carrot? You will apply your heavy hand as you are known for?" Zenos laughed softly. "You are the Butcher, and not the Surgeon."

Fordola was about to reply when a sound to the side caught her attention. By reflex she turned to look, and saw a Garlean centurion leaning down to gather the papers that Zenos had scattered to the floor. The centurion’s helm hid their face, as well, but Fordola could see how they had paused, hand outstretched, when they had caught sight of the Ala Mhigan poised at the Viceroy’s feet, all but holding his hand.

The Viceroy waited for her reply as though nothing were amiss.

Fordola took a moment to put her thoughts back in order, then managed as steadily as she could, "O- of course, my lord. Dig out the roots of rebellion before they can gain purchase in Ala Mhigan soil. I will do whatever it takes."

“We shall see how your plan plays out,” Zenos went on, the casual edge to his voice suddenly feeling rather deliberate. “And if you are able to produce results, then perhaps I will seek your counsel in future matters.”

The centurion collected the documents from the floor and hurried from the throne room. Fordola rose to her feet, closing her eyes and taking a deep, slow breath as she felt her cheeks burn.

Her actions would speak for her. Lord Zenos was giving her an opportunity, and she would not let anything distract her. She would not let anything get in her way. She had come so far. Fordola could not allow it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Fordola ;;
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
